


(Gl)assistence Required

by Mercurialfan



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, unfortunate injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4444958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercurialfan/pseuds/Mercurialfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Daredevil suffers a bit of a mishap, Foggy is there to pick up the pieces.</p>
<p>Or well, pick out the pieces. Of glass. Out of Matt's ass.</p>
<p>Sometimes Foggy wonders how this is his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Gl)assistence Required

“You have WHAT in your WHERE?!” Foggy yells (not shrieks, definitely not shrieks).

Matt, who is lying face down on the couch, mumbles something inaudible in the couch cushions.

“I AM SORRY MATT I DID NOT HEAR YOU.” Foggy bellows.

He might be panicking a little bit. He actually knows full well what Matt's problem is. He might have actually reacted decently, the way a friend is supposed to react when their best friend/business partner asks for help with something as painful and awkward as this, but not when it's the middle of the night and he is woken up by said best friend/business partner because they stumbled over Foggy's coffee table and face planted on the floor.

“I said, I have glass in my, eh...” Matt repeated through clenched teeth, “my behind.”

The last part is mumbled once again in the couch cushion, but Foggy decides to be merciful.

“Okay, you have glass in your ass. Great. Perfect. Please tell me it's just a tiny shard somewhere on your upper leg, of maybe your hip, or something?”

Even before Matt shakes his head Foggy knows the answer. He had seen the blood when he helped Matt to the couch. That amount of blood does not come from a single, tiny cut.

“Why didn't you go to Claire? Afraid she would run away if she sees your hairy ass?” Okay, so maybe Foggy is not that merciful. Matt mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like 'my ass is not hairy', but when he moves his head the only thing he says is, “she's out of town this weekend.”

Foggy sighs. “And you won't go to a hospital for obvious reasons. Okay,” Foggy sighs again (sue him, sighing repeatedly was completely reasonable behavior in situations like this), “what do you need me to do?”

Matt awkwardly twists his upper body around, taking care not to move the lower part, so he can look at Foggy. Foggy is not sure why he does it, but he appreciates the gesture.

“I need you to get the scissors, cut my pants off. After that, use tweezers to pull the shards out. Then, antiseptics,” Matt shudders a bit at this and Foggy winces in sympathy, “and finally you may need to stitch some of the cuts up, and bandage the rest.”

“Right,” Foggy says faintly, “this is going to go great.”

*

It does not go great.

The scissors barely manage to cut through the thick fabric and Foggy has to use them as a sort of saw to get through some of the double stitched seams.

“Just be glad I'm not wearing my new suit.” Matt says, in response to Foggy's cursing.

“And why is that, exactly?” Foggy answers, having noticed it when he first saw Matt, but being too distracted by his bloodied friend that he only thinks to ask about it when Matt brings it up himself.

Matt huffs and the corners of his mouth curl up a little bit. This is going to be good, Foggy thinks.

“I washed it last night. I had expected it to be dry by now, but it took longer than I had hoped.”

Foggy rolls his eyes so hard he is sure Matt can hear it.

“And you didn't think: 'hey, this is a great opportunity to take the night off'? No, don't answer that, I already know you didn't.” Foggy barely resists the urge to rub his hands over his face. The last thing he needs his Matt's blood in his eyes.

“I wasn't exactly expecting this to happen.” Matt grumbles.

“And what is that, exactly?” Foggy asks, before he can help himself. He is about to pick glass out of his best friends ass, the least Matt can do is tell him how it got there.

What follows is what under different circumstances would be a hilarious story. It features a foiled burglary, panicking thieves, three stray dogs, a getaway van with a flat tire, a chase through an art museum, and finally, a miscalculated jump and a broken glass vase.

“And when I had tied the men up and called 911, I made my way to you.” Matt concludes his unfortunate account.

“Wow Matt. Just wow.” Foggy chokes out, trying to keep from flat out laughing at his friend. “Hey, do you think this sort of thing happens to Captain America?”

Matt completely ignores him. “Do you think you can start with taking the glass out please?” Is all he says.

Right. The glass. Foggy swallows and carefully eases the torn and cut fabric away from Matt's body. Cutting through his boxers is easy, and when he has carefully peeled those away too, Foggy sucks in a sharp breath.

“Well, I have good news and I have bad news,” he starts, “the good news is that your ass is way less hairy than I thought, so congrats on that, but the bad news is that this is going to hurt like a bitch.”

Matt shrugs. “It already hurts, I'll be fine. There weren't any vital organs or major arteries hit, honestly, this isn't that bad actually.”

Foggy resists the urge to violently poke Matt for that last comment and silently grabs the tweezers and a bowl to put the glass in.

“Here goes nothing.” He warns, and begins.

*

Matt keeps himself completely still during the entire procedure. Even when Foggy has to twist and pull to get the bigger shards out, he doesn't move a muscle. Foggy would be impressed if it wasn't so, well, sad. No one should be used to this amount of pain. The wounds tend to bleed a lot when Foggy pulls a shard out, but none of them seem very deep and they clot easily. Foggy tries to ignore which body part it is exactly that he is pulling glass out of, but he is not completely successful. This sort of thing doesn't happen to other people, he thinks bitterly. Matt is going to owe him so many favors for this.

“I think I have them all,” Foggy eventually says, “but honestly, there's a lot of blood man, I might have missed one.”

Matt slowly blinks and seems to pull himself back from somewhere far away.

“That's okay, just wipe away the blood and use the antiseptics. You might see better when there is less blood.”

Foggy nods and goes to his kitchen to wet a washcloth. Behind him, Matt shifts uneasily, but understandably doesn't seem to want to move very much.

When Foggy returns, wet washcloth in one hand, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in the other, he takes in the sight. A bowl full of bloody shards stands on his coffee table, bloody fingerprints decorating the outside. A pair of equally bloody tweezers lies next to it. There are some drops of blood on the floor, but not very many. Matt is still lying face down on the couch, looking ridiculous in his skintight black suit, with his bare en bloody ass hanging out of his pants.

Shaking his head, Foggy kneels next to his friend and carefully begins to wipe the blood away. He takes care not to reopen the wounds, but he wants to be sure there is no glass left in Matt's buttocks. The flesh is firm and warm under his hand, even through the washcloth he is using, and Foggy barely manages to resist the urge to make an innuendo laced comment about it. Seriously, Foggy should win an award for best friend forever for this.

When he is done cleaning Matt's behind (Matt's behind. This. Was. So. Weird.), Foggy uses the light of his cellphone to check for any errand pieces of glass. Fortunately, there don't seem to be any.

“Okay buddy, I think we're good on the glass front. However, I'm going to have to disinfect the cuts now, and it's not going to be fun. Are you ready?” Foggy asks.

Matt groans. “No. But do it anyway please.”

Foggy ruffles Matt's hair. “Don't whine, you baby, you brought this unto yourself.” And before Matt can reply, Foggy has emptied half the bottle on Matt's behind. Matt flinches, hard, but to his credit keeps completely silent. Foggy carefully uses the cleaner half of the washcloth to spread the antiseptics around, making sure that every cut gets disinfected. When he is done, he admires his handiwork. Honestly, now that Matt is cleaned up a bit, it doesn't look as bad as it had seemed earlier tonight, and he tells Matt this.

“Glad to hear it. Do you think I need stitches?”

Foggy shrugs. “How the hell should I know? Do I look like Hottie McBurnerphone to you?”

His grumpy comment earns him a smile from Matt.

“How the hell should I know? Blind, remember?”

Foggy has to remind himself that he just spend the last forty minutes patching Matt up and that smacking him on the ass would undo a lot of his hard work. Before his can give a response to Matt, his friend speaks up again:

“Are there cuts that seem particularly deep, or cuts that are still bleeding?”

Foggy looks closely, but it really doesn't look that bad anymore.

“Some of them are still bleeding a bit, but honestly, I've seen you with worse. I think you got real lucky tonight, buddy.”

Matt gives a sigh of relief. “I'm glad to hear it. Can you maybe put some bandages on it, for the wounds that are still bleeding?”

Foggy shrugs again. “Sure. But you'll have to talk me through it. I don't want to accidentally tape your buttocks together or something.”

Silence, for a beat.

And both Matt and Foggy burst out laughing, the absurdity of the entire situation finally getting to them. Foggy has to sit down next to the couch for a moment, the laughter making his muscles unable to support him. Next to him, Matt is alternately laughing and groaning because of the pain his laughter is causing him. Of course, this prompts another bout of hysterical laughing from Foggy, which sets Matt off again.

When they finally manage to calm down, Matt explains how to use the gauze and the bandages and yes, even the tape. It's actually far more easy than Foggy expected, and before he knows it, he is getting to his feet, and Matt's entire behind is swaddled in bandages.

“Do you need anything else? Were there anymore injuries?” Foggy finally thinks to ask. Leave it to Matt to leave other, less severe wounds out, just so he wouldn't inconvenience Foggy any further. Matt shakes his head. “I promise, this was the only thing.”

Foggy can't really keep the relief out of his voice when he replies, “Good, because I'm exhausted. For a moment I was afraid I would have to splint your dick or something.”

“Splint my..., Foggy! Don't say that!” Matt sputters, turning bright red.

Foggy throws up his hands. “Honestly, at this point, I wouldn't be surprised, Murdock! This all started because of chemicals splashed in your eyes. You've been stabbed with an ancient ninja weapon, and I just pulled seven million shards of glass out of your ass! Who knows what could be next? There might be dick-splinting in the future. Remember that, the next time you go out Daredeviling in leggings!”

Matt has buried his head in the couch cushions as far as he can during Foggy's impromptu speech and has pressed his hands over his ears. He is also loudly humming, obviously unwilling to hear Foggy's very wise words. Fine, whatever, Foggy thinks. He just hopes Claire is back in town for the inevitable dick-splinting.

He leaves Matt be and quickly cleans up the worst of the mess. When he returns to the living room, Matt has fallen asleep, head still buried in the cushions. Foggy looks at him fondly for a moment, before gently draping a soft blanket over his friend. He decides to leave Matt be for the night.

After all, he needs a full night's rest to keep up with the quite frankly insane amount of ass-related jokes Foggy is going to bombard him with tomorrow.


End file.
